


You before me

by oathkceper



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brienne takes care of him until he wakes, F/M, Jaime is injured in battle, Loosely based on a scene from Me Before You, Mentions of Death, Mostly Fluff, Post S8E3, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 16:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21164399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oathkceper/pseuds/oathkceper
Summary: Jaime had been taken away from her twice that night: Once by a hoard of wights, and a second by an injured maester looking to help him. But by the grace of the Gods, he was not taken away a third time by the SevenBrienne tired to make up for her mistake by never once leaving his side during his recovery.





	You before me

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all!!  
Long time no see, I know. But luckily all is forgiven with this extra long fic that i wrote based on a particular scene from “Me Before You”.  
I need to write more, and i’m sure with the motivation this short story gave me, i’ll be well on my way.

Jaime could not remember the pain. He could not even remember falling under the ocean of wights that had crashed over him in a wave of death that had threatened to swallow him whole and banish him to the hellish afterlife that awaited him. 

Brienne remembered. She had relived the exact moment Jaime had fallen too many times in her head not to be able to feel each exact emotion that has coursed through her veins, she had seen it in daydreams and nightmares alike - both before and after the dawn had come for them. Watching Jaime be taken away from her by death itself without the ability to save him whilst battling for her own life had wrecked her beyond her own comprehension. He had yelled and kicked and fought even after his sword had been torn away from him. He had looked at her directly in the eyes, his mouth had moved to say something, but all Brienne could only focus on the gaze of pure terror alight in his fern eyes. 

“_Brienne_!” 

Her name, his voice. It had ripped its way from his chest and split through the cold air like arrow that hit her directly where it needed to in order to make an impact. Brienne was sure she had never moved faster, never with such vigour and strength as she cut down each wight with both sword and bare fist to reach Jaime. Like a web, they had caught her in their grasps. She found her hand in one mouth, the pain of teeth chewing down on her right calf as she tore through each one of them with a malice that the Warrior himself could not challenge. Brienne yelled and kicked and fought, and unliked Jaime, she was not carried away. 

The only things that Brienne would allow the wights to carry away with them was their own souls into whatever hell they crawled out of. Not her, and definitely not Jaime. 

When she had reached him, he was cold. His face the void of any pigment, his strong body limp against the blood-soaked snow. Crimson soaked through his armour where a sword still stood up proudly, imbedded deeply through his stomach. Brienne had screamed.

She was still screaming when the dead fell around her, Jaime Lannister’s name being the last thing each one of them heard. Her voice was hoarse, but her emotion was strong, and her pain unbearable. Nothing in sight of the Seven would have held the cries that racked her body back, and so the Seven simply did not try. 

Jaime was carried away from her a second time that night by a few women who had emerged from the crypts to help the injured. She had only watched then. She could do no more for him. Brienne had already failed him, and there was nothing make hateful than that. 

Sansa had been the one to find her hours later with her back pressed up against a stone wall, slumped with her eyes staring up at the sky with enough tears welling inside of them to make even the sun seem like a blurred ray of hope. She had not moved, and she did not want to. 

Only when Sansa had spoken did her stiffened body force itself out of the numbness that had spread its way throughout her body like a plague. 

“He’s alive.” 

Jaime had been taken from her twice that night, but not a third time by the Gods. No, Jaime Lannister lived. Barely, but the harsh Winterfell air he hated so much still found its way into his lungs so he could breathe, what was left of his blood still flowed steadily through his veins. Brienne had been too blinded to check for a pulse, she had been too sure of his demise to fool herself into thinking that there was any hope of his survival. It was a mistake that could have cost him his life, and nearly had done.

Brienne tried to make up for it by never once leaving his side during his recovery. 

Each day, Jaime lay in her bed in the chambers she had given up for him. Sometimes he woke, spoke in a voice that hardly sounded like his own, and then fell back into slumber after a mumbled few words. Brienne watched over him like a mother would a child. She held cool rags to his forehead when his fever became too high, she cleaned and dressed his wound with her own battle-scarred hands. It was her voice he woke up to hear, and hers that carried him back to sleep. 

Brienne hardly rested; she did not have the time. Between being Sansa’s sworn sword, training the soldiers to prepare them to march South, talking with Pod and Tyrion, and looking after Jaime, sleep was not something she could afford. When she did find the time, she curled her long limbs up into the chair by the hearth and threw her cloak over her body. There was hardly any comfort, not in her awkward position, but what did calm her enough to allow sleep to claim her was the gentle rasp of Jaime’s breathing from her bed. 

It had been a week since the long night, and tonight was one of those nights where she could not find the will to sleep. Instead, she stared into the roaring flames of the fire with her legs brought up to her chest, her fur draped over her knees to defend her against the chill of the air that still managed to seep through any open crack in the walls that it could do. Jaime had been making subtle improvements as Sam Tarly had informed her during his daily visits. His wound was healing well and his fever seemed to be breaking. Sometimes when he woke, he would talk briefly, and in those moments, Brienne could never decide whether she was happy to hear him as if they had won, or devastated to hear him ask if he himself was okay.

Brienne smiled softly as she basked in the silence of her chambers, the glow of the firelight illuminating the room to give the impression it were more warm than cold. The chill did not bother much, not in such a moment whilst Jaime stirred to life within the furs that enveloped him like the embrace of life itself. Better that than the clasps of death, even if Brienne found she had to wipe the sweat from his brow more and more each day because of the encased heat. 

“It’s late.”

Brienne perked up when a strangled noise emitted from Jaime, the sound resonating throughout her room to fill the silence that once had begun to suffocate her. 

“Ser Jaime?” She asked quietly, uncurling herself from her position to stand up and pad over to his side, the chill of the stone causing shivers to run up her spine. Leaning over his figure, her eyes flickered across his face, her brow creasing as she thought over whether or not sleep deprived delirium had gotten the better of her and tortured her now with the sound of Jaime’s voice. 

“Wench.” 

Brienne smiled, the corners of her mouth creeping up at the side as Jaime’s eyes fluttered open. “You have not spoken coherently in a week, and that is the first thing you have to say?”

Gone was the sleep in his eyes, replaced by a smug glint that lit up his face brighter than Brienne could remember it being previously with all of the dark thoughts that had been swarming her head like a storm ready to break down the walls held steadily within her. His rugged beard hid some remnants of a smile, though it was evident in the white of his teeth that his expression had been taken over by a happiness Brienne did not think she could see again. 

“What else would you have me say?” Jaime rasped, his voice as hoarse as to be expected with hints of amusement hidden in the gravely undertones. 

Brienne shook her head, wisps of bleached hair falling over her face, the dark bags under her eyes seemingly lifting with the weight that rose from her shoulders. Jaime was alive, he was okay. He was back to being his snarky self and Brienne could not have been more relieved. She felt her chest heave with a sigh of relief, only for that same breath to be rung back in during a shaky inhale. 

_She had almost lost him. _

Jaime Lannister had almost been taken from her, and it was that thought that dissipated the smile on her lips until they were pressed into a thin line. That very same vibrancy in his green eyes could have been lost to the dark abyss of death, the coils of his hair spun with the finest gold with hints of silver threaded at the roots could have turned to ash under the heat of the fire that could have enveloped him. Jaime could have been lost to the world, and Brienne’s world could have been lost to Jaime. 

Sensing the change, as shown by the parting of her lips and the growth of her eyes which widened in time with each thought that crossed her mind like traces of evil, Jaime soon frowned, though his weakness denied him the ability to do much else. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Brienne interrupted, the looming question on Jaime’s tongue too much for her to answer in that moment.

“What do you remember?” She asked, straightening her back and crossing her hands in front of her, her fingers interlocking as if to hold herself together with what might she could. A tightening coil twisted in her chest at the memories that flooded her like a wave meant to lay waste upon her. She had screamed for Jaime; screamed his name until her voice had been as lost as she had felt. Her heart screamed for him still, especially when the flash in his eyes explained every emotion he must be feeling all at once. 

“I don’t remember the pain.” Jaime started, attempting to shake his head against the pillow to loosen the stiffness of his neck. With a wince, he resumed his last position, his fern eyes seeking out her own in between locks of gold that had fallen over his forehead. “It feels more like a dream than reality. I was stood, and then I wasn’t. My sword was in my hand, and then I had one buried in my chest. Then we’re was a scream, and then there was... _blue_.” Jaime paused, his eyebrows knitting together in what Brienne assumed to be effort to think back far enough for the pieces of his memories to fit together. “Then there was you. Perhaps you came before the blue, perhaps you  were the blue. I cant recall all too well.” 

Briennes gaze did not waver from his own, the glow of the firelight from the hearth illuminating him to give off illusion there was more life in him than his body allowed him to show. She tried not to look away as he recalled the distant echoes of her cries for him to survive, tried to hold back the heat she could feel crawling up her neck like an insistent rash, which is what she was sure it resembled more than the delicate bloom of a rose as found on the cheeks of any other woman.

The thin glaze of sweat on his forehead glistened in a way one would only expect of a God rather than a man currently too weak to lift his own eyebrows high enough on his forehead to allow his eyes to open fully. The glow enchanted her as much as it worried her; it seemed almost too surreal. That he was alive and breathing after such an ordeal, that she was sane enough even with lack of sleep to have not shed a tear when he had spoken for the first time since the battle. 

“I thought you were dead.” Brienne began, her voice as small as it was strong in her mind. It was all she could manage with the words spoken. Her strength to keep emotions at bay was threatening to burst, the wall separating the oceans of her eyes from pouring out and down her pale, bruised cheek as thin as the icy lakes her iris’ had become. With her gaze averted from his, she dropped her attention down to his maimed hand. There was nothing about this man Brienne could find herself to smile at, not in that moment. “I thought you had died in my arms.” 

“Fitting.” Brienne’s eyes snapped up to meet his again, the sapphire of hers moulding with the emerald of his until each of the previous gemstones found in their eyes seemed to merge entirely together to create a new diamond as treasured as the Gods. His voice was barely a whisper, a breath of air that the cold Winterfell sir carried away with it. To which part Jaime was referring to, Brienne did not know, but she did not pry. He looked much too weak to speak of detail when he could hardly even speak of recollections. 

Brienne stared for a moment longer, an unreadable expression schooling her features. It took the motion of Jaime’s throat bobbing with the effort to swallow to break her trance. 

“Are you still hurting?” She asked suddenly, shaking her head to reorganise her thoughts that had since been washed away by a simple word spoken so softly that had sent her mind reeling. 

“I cant feel much pain.” Jaime concluded after a moment of concentration. His eyes remained steadily on her as she walked to the corner of the room to retrieve a pitcher or water and a cup, the intensity of it threatening to burn holes right through her skin and into her lungs where her breath began to grow heavier. “There’s a dull throb, a bit of pressure on the chest.” 

“That would be your bandage. It is almost time for me to change it again.” 

“You’ve been changing it?” Despite the lack of energy in his body, his eyebrows furrowed together, as if in disbelief. Jaime tried to move further to face her more fully as she seated herself sheepishly on the very edge of the bed, but only ended up hissing at himself when the task proved too difficult without injury. 

“Who else do you think has been taking care of you?” She asked calmly, the steady flow of the water from the pitcher into the cup the only sound that echoed in the room afterwards. Setting the water on the rookedy table beside the bed, she rolled the sleeves of her robe up and looked towards him, expecting a snarky response at the least, though found nothing but wonder present within the swirling pools of green within his eyes. “I thought it only proper since I could not save you when you... fell.” That word. It struggled as it was forced off her tongue. 

“You owe me no dept, my lady.” The reply came with a grunt, the expelled air curling around her ear as she bent down and hooked her arms under him to lift him from his lying position with as much tenderness as her strong arms could manage. Barely containing a shiver, Brienne truly did try to keep a respectable distance, but it was hard when Jaime’s whole body weight landed on her chest when he found himself sat up. A dark blush rose on her cheeks, one that she could not prevent even if she had caught it on time, and her heart beating too wildly to be anything other than uncomfortable.

“I do.” She coughed, reaching behind Jaime’s hunched form to rearrange his pillow to support his back against the headboard. The lack of pained noises emitting from Jaime did not hide the fact he was hurting; his harsh breaths fanned out against her neck, raising bumps along her arms with yet another shiver threatening to roll down her spine. “I tried to save you.” 

“I didn’t ask you to save me.” There was a strain in his voice as Brienne rested him agaisnt the back of the bed, her hands supporting him until he nodded his head silently to be let go. Retracting her hands, Brienne looked him directly in the eyes, her own as intense as the stormy seas of blue that were trapped within her iris had always intended for them to be. 

“You didn’t need to.” She insisted, voice as firm as it was sure. Jaime opened his mouth to retaliate, only to be met by the palm of her hand stopping whatever flow of words about to stumble from his mouth. “Ser Jaime, honour compelled me to fight the dead. Loyalty compelled me to fight for Winterfell.” A brief pause was need for confidence, and to breathe in the air he had just expelled when his shoulders slumped in what Brienne had initially thought to be disappointment. “Friendship compelled me to _fight_ for you. Friendship compelled me to _save_ you.”

Jaime shook his head in wonder, mouth parted in disbelief, shoulders slumped in defeat. He knew Brienne was as stubborn as the will of God’s just as well as she did; she would never back down from a fight. Not even if it meant having to trade her life for his. “You could have died trying to save me.” 

“I was more than willing to give my life for yours. For anyone’s.” She defended, grasping the goblet of water in her palm and handed it over to Jaime, who’s own hand shook with the effort to raise it on his own with the pain that still shook through his nerves whenever they sensed movement. 

Jaime could not fathom this woman, he could not remember a time where he did, if he thought about it. There was no amount of honour in him that compared to Brienne’s, his loyalty to his family was something that went completely overshadowed by the loyalty Brienne showed to those she hardly knew. The heart of the Maiden lived within her with the strength of the Warrior. The kindness of the Mother, the justice of The Father, the mystery of The Stranger, the wisdom of The Crone, and the perfect creation of The Smith shone from within her and cast light into the dull world they lived in through the intensity and purity of the love held so securely in her heart. The Seven has reincarnated themselves in each part of Brienne of Tarth, and their grace and wisdoms was upheld by her kindness and strength. 

“My life does not compare-“ Jaime tried after a sip of water had been taken from the goblet of his hand, a thin doplet trailing down his chin.

“To me it does.” There was a sharp edge to her voice, as steel as the blade he had gifted to her. Brienne watched him owlishly, her brilliant eyes opened wide enough for Jaime to see the oceans waves crashing agaisnt the barrier of her pupils as if wishing to pour over the edge and rush down her cheeks which had become a blotchy shade of red. From anger or from the heat, Jaime did not know at first, but one glance at the clench of her jaw and the ringing of her hand pushed away the notion that her redness had been caused by the scorch of the fire which now lived within her skin. 

“And does it to Lady Sansa? To the dragon Queen?” Jaime asked, the rasp in his voice hardening in time with hers. The gratitude that filled him soon dissipated into anger at the sound of her voice. Brienne knew then by looking into his eyes that he remembered the sound of her slashing blade at her steely tone. She could have died, for him. Although she was more than willing to, she was sure she could not have caused Jaime greater offence. Anger vanished from his eyes at the movement he took to clench the first clutching his cup, replaced by a pain that seemed to soothe his frustration momentarily. “Do you think that either of them would rather have me stood by their side than you?”

“It does not matter what your life means to them. It means something to _me_.” Brienne brought herself to stare him in the eyes until he lowered his own to his lap, her brows furrowing so tightly together that she was sure she looked more angry than desperate, which is what she felt so deeply. “Lady Sansa was willing to send you away when you first entered Winterfell’s walls. Queen Daenerys might have even killed you for the end you brought to her father. I stood up for you. Lady Sansa could have thrown me out with you, Queen Daenerys could have killed me too, but it was a risk I was willing to take.” A pause. A breath. “For you.” 

Brienne watched as Jaime swallowed, his throat bobbing and his wince enough evidence to show how much discomfort the simple action gave him. He looked up at her then, his eyes as exhausted as his body, the life seeming to leave him yet again. Brienne worried for him, her frown slipping from her features until only the softness of The Mother lay within her expression. “But _why_, Brienne?” He breathed, tendrils of overgrown golden hair falling over his forehead as his neck tilted to the side, his chest heaving with a rugged sigh. “Why would you ever give up your life for mine?” 

There was a very simple answer to that question, yet to allow it out of her mouth was too difficult. The words cut through her as they rose up her throat, cutting her open from the inside until she had to swallow them back with fear of bleeding out if she allowed herself to be torn apart so viciously. The reason was so simple, yet so complicated and so painful in many more ways than Briennes mind could comprehend coherently. 

She loved him. 

That was the answer to his question; she loved him too much and would rather see herself die than to allow him to be taken away from her when she had lived her entire life being the one to lose and never to gain. To feel the life drain out of Jaime as she held him on the battlefield was something akin to death itself; she felt very ounce of herself fall apart as if Jaime was the cradle that held her together. There was nothing she would not risk to see him live, and if she had to give her life in exchange for his, then it was what she would have done. Without thought, without doubt. With honour, with love. 

Brienne did not reply, she could not open her mouth without screaming at the tearing of her throat as those words crawled up the tender flesh, waiting to exit into the air where they could openly laugh at her stupidity for ever thinking that such a man would fall for her. That she was ever worthy of holding those words within her heart as a shield no sword could breath through. Instead, she averted her gaze from his down to the bandage on his chest, trying to see through and glimpse at his heart which she knew she would never be trusted to hold in her rough, calloused fingers. 

“Your bandage needs changing.” She simply answered. As simple as those three words, and yet much less painful. The sleeve of her robe fell down her forearms, covering the goosebumps that rose on her skin when she reached to undo the bandage knot, only for her hand to be covered by Jaime’s stump. She avoided meeting his eyes, focused so intently on the scaring of his wrist which should have felt rough against her scarred hands - which had been the cause of the wight that had tried to stop her from getting to Jaime - but instead felt as soft and as gentle as anything. She was certain. 

“You’re changing the subject.” He murmured, the rasp in his voice doing nothing at all to dim the velvety undertones that caressed her heart until it constricted with the attention. Jaime did not move his stump from her hand, although his eyes did drop to meet the contact that they held, his eyebrows raising as they trailed over the rugged red scars that had raised in welts on the back of her hands and curled around her long fingers like vines from a thorned rose. 

“Yes. I am.” Brienne affirmed with a nod, removing her hand from his and resuming her task of undoing the knot of the bandage as she took note of the attention he lavished onto the new battle wounds. She did not think she could handle being questioned. 

“_Fine_,” Jaime gave in, seeking out the peaceful rolling waves of azure surrounding the eclypse of her pupils with his own eyes of green that had lightened with lush forests since his awakening. A small smile curled at the corners of his cracked lips. “I’ll let you.”

“I wasn’t asking for permission.” She huffed, steadying her trembling fingers which had yet to accustom themselves to the injuries she had sustained, according to Sam. His smile was almost suffocating as she untied his bandage and hooked her arms under his to pull him agaisnt her chest so she could unwrap his coverings. With her heart beating wilding agaisnt her ribcage, she as certain that it was trying to connect with his, but she was stubborn enough to shove her heart where it belonged and held it there with fear of embarrassment. 

“Its always nice to have some control when you’re being manhandled because you can’t move on your own.” He mumbled, his chin resting on the jut of her shoulder whilst she concentrated on her task at hand, unravelling his wound silently. 

Brienne did feel sorry for him, as she did when he lost his hand on her behalf. She did not know much of Jaime’s personal childhood, but she knew enough to understand he never truly had control over his life. To have his hand taken away with the cruelty he didn’t deserve, and now to have his dignity taken away through the inability to handle himself as every man should only heightened the fact he could not take the initiative in his life and live it as he pleased. Knowing the constraints forced upon her as a child did not compare to the pain all of this must cause Jaime was particularly upsetting; she wanted to be able to understand him, to console him in what little ways she could without him feeling as though she was putting him. 

The bandage peeled from his wound with relative ease, though Jaime still hissed as his injury met the cool Winterfell air and shot daggers of ice straight through the sensitive tissue and into his veins until he began shivering against Brienne’s chest.

“Tell me something good.” He said quietly, and a smile fluttered onto her lips.

“I remember saying that to my father when I was a little girl.” She recalled, her voice dripping with the fondness she rarely allowed herself to show. “Whenever I had a nightmare or I couldn’t sleep.” 

Jaime’s shoulders shook heavier with silent laughter, a grunt interrupting the amusement as Brienne adjusted him so he lay back agaisnt the headboard yet again, her arms wrapped around his back and their faces close enough that Brienne felt the exact moment of calm fall over him in the form of a gentle expell of breath. “And what did he do to soothe the greatest young warrior that Tarth had ever seen?” He teased through a rasp.

Brienne shook her head for a moment, retracting herself from Jaime’s heat to enter the warmth the glowing fire gave her instead. She remained quiet for a moment, but with the lion in her bed wiggling his eyebrows at her to tempt an answer from her lips, the good humour that slipped a smile onto her lips soon loosened her enough for an explication to follow suit. “He used to sing.” She added, much to Jaime’s amusement. “He used to sing _Mhaighdean Bhàn Uasal_.” 

“Excuse me?” He chuckled, creasing his eyebrows with a tilt of his head. He did not once look at his wound to assess the damage. Brienne was all too willing to keep that smile lighting up his features with the very same intensity that it lit up her dark thoughts during the past week that she continued to entertain him. 

“Mhaighdean Bhàn Uasal.” She grinned, shaking her head. “I thought everyone knew it. It means Noble Maiden Fair in ancient language.” 

“Is that so?” One look at the quirk of his lips and the dimple that appeared from underneath the thick bush of his beard which was now more silver than gold, though was still as valuable to her as gold still was to the poorest of folk, told her his plan. 

Brienne shook her head instantly. “I know what you’re thinking.” She accused, pushing herself up from her seated position to reach for the fresh bandage she had laid out on a wooden chair in preparation for the next change. “You want me to sing.” 

“I will not consider your dept paid in full until you do.” 

Brienne whipped her head around to face him, her mouth parting in disbelief even if the corners quirked up at the very corners in her humour. “You said that I did not have a dept to settle with you.” 

“And yet you argued with me and said otherwise.” Jaime said, his voice a sing-song tone that mocked her own singing abilities. “You only have yourself to blame for what is to come.” 

Biting down on her lower lip, she realised that the lion had officially caught her tongue. 

Jaime’s life came above her own, and the light that had illuminated his hopeful, childlike eyes that made the silver trespassing into his golden beard seem like nothing more than reflections of warmth from the fire in the hearth was something he could have been deprived of. He wanted control, he craved it when he did not have any. If she could let her vulnerability bloom like a rose within her, she was willing to allow its thorns to tear through her dignity for a few brief moments if it resulted in the satisfaction of some form of control, over her. Of all people. It was worth it. 

“Must I?” She asked tentatively, settling herself back down on the edge of the bed, patting the white bandage on her lap, her eyes following the motions of her hands as to not meet the smugness in his eyes she could feel forming a cloud around her. 

“You must.” Jaime nodded, his voice as tender as the first coo of a babe and the last breath of a man at peace with the world. 

Brienne looked up at him, the long lashes of her eyes unable to hide the azur that lay encrusted within, but the moment where the shining emerald met the shimmering sapphire sent waves of fondness as strong as the ones crashing agaisnt her pupils. He looked happy, that was all the confidence she needed. 

A deep breath, a delicate cough, and finally, a song. 

_“A naoidhean bhig, cluinn mo ghuth_

_Mise ri d' thaobh, Ó mhaighdean bhàn_

_Ar rìbhinn òg, fàs a's faic_

_Do thìr, dìleas fhéin,”_

Though the melody and her voice did not merge together like two joining seas flowing into one another to form a spectacle that many a man would travel to see, though it wavered and broke like a wave crashing against the rocky mountains back on Tarth, she still managed to enchant Jaime. By no means was she perfect, nor was she even really good at all, but she was passionate and soulful, as she was every day. As she always had been. 

_“A ghrian a's a ghealach, stiùir sinn_

_Gu uair ar cliù 's ar glòir_

_Naoidhean bhig, ar rìbhinn òg_

_Mhaighdean uasal bhàn.”_

Perhaps it was the fact that she was not perfect at all in anyone’s eyes that made her so entirely beautiful in that moment. Perhaps it was the smile on Jaime’s face that made her feel as though he had reserved every gentle piece of himself for her that made her feel every bit the beauty she had never been. Brienne was unaware, but she did not need a definite answer in that moment. A moment where happiness was defined by the look in Jaime’s eyes, where her song had been sung with as much tenderness as that very same gaze and had the very rare ability to make a Brienne feel like a woman. 

“I did not claim to be an able singer—“ She began, their silence broken by her soft speaking which was almost as quiet as the silence had been. She did not want to spoil what peace she had created with the sound of her less than average voice and pretty song. 

“— Thank you.” Jaime interrupted, his stump settling over her fiddling fingers, soothing the tremors in them until they lay still under his light touch. “Although, for what it’s worth, I hope your father sung it better.” His dimples once again made an appearance, this time along with the his whitened teeth as he smiled that cheeky grin of his that had once made her squirm, and now warmed her very core.

She chuckled deeply, the sound vibrating in her throat. “I think what you mean to say is: thank you, Ser Brienne, for attempting to entertain me.”

“Alright, _Ser Brienne_.” Jaime humoured, his shoulders rising with the shake of silent laughter. “Tell me something else. Something that doesn’t involve singing.” 

“Such as what?” 

“Anything.” The word was spoken so clearly, yet had such endless possibilities, and by the eagerness portrayed in his dedication to sit up straighter against the headboard in preperation to listen to whatever she had to say, she judged that was his plan. 

Her front teeth bit down on her chapped lower lip, teasing the flesh as if to try and tempt answers from it whilst fighting back an amused smile that matched his own. It was hard not to be so carefree in a time such as this, with Jaime awake and alive, smiling and being happier than she had seen him in even her dreams where they had traveled across Westeros with swords held in one hand and each other’s held in the other. Dreams where they both did not suffer, where nobody did. 

Brienne let her guard down then, a full grin parting her lips to show off crooked teeth and shiny eyes that resembled that of the early morning sun casting down upon the blue waves and forming blinding crystals on the surface. Perhaps she could pretend, if only for the moments she had left before they both succumbed to sleep, that her dream of being painfree with the man she loved was reality. 

“_Well_...” Brienne drawled, her biting down on the tip of her tongue as she looked up in childlike thought. Her face brightened suddenly, her back straightening with the giddiness and her voice lightening behind the grave and royal tone she had trained herself to use. “When I was a little girl, my father gifted me my first ever helmet. It had been an item passed on through generations to the young warriors and it was my turn to own the family heirloom. I loved it so much - despite it being so battleworn and rusty - - that I wore it in bed, in the bath, _to the sept_, all summer long.” She giggled then at the memory behind her scarred hand, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught Jaime’s smile widen beyond what must be painless, a quiet laugh clawing its way from his raw throat, but sounded as smooth as velvet to her ears. “My favourite outfit was my helm and my sunny dress.”

“Sunny dress?” He inquired, eyebrows raised in charming question. There had never been a man so beautiful in that moment, and his attention was directly soley on her. 

“Bright yellow.” 

“Oh, dear _God’s_.” Jaime laughed, the sound only cracking through her walls of high brick like heated Valyrian steel blade through snow, melting it down and leaving her with nothing but open childish happiness that had been hiding away for so long and begging for release.

Brienne hid her loud amusement behind her hand once again, her nose scrunching up and her eyes squinting into what much have been such an unappealing sight, but with Jaime gazing at her like she hung the very moon and star on the Tarth sigil, his could she deny him a look that only he had ever been trusted enough to see? “I just adored being both a knight and a lady at the same time.”

“So what happened to this gorgeous dress and beloved helm?” Such wonder was evident in his voice, in his eyes. Brienne paused for a moment just to watch, just to observe, and when her sapphires melted together with his emeralds, she had never felt more like a precious treasure.

“I outgrew them.” She sighed wistfully, unfolding the bandage in her lap with delicate fingers, reaching out with long arms to begin wrapping the fabric around his bare torso, hiding away the only phantom evidence of pain in the room. “It was the first time I recall being truly heartbroken. I could never find a replacement for my sunny dress, not for a girl of my size.” 

“Strange, that.” 

“Oh, you can mock,” She smiled. “Didn’t you ever love anything as much?” Brienne rolled her eyes, moving her attention towards dressing the wound of the man whom looked more God now than only half with not only the glow of the fire in the distance radiating his features, but the sheer joy evident within those crows feet besides his eyes, in the scrunch of his pointed nose, and in the charm of his boyish dimples. Even after all of the mistakes he had made, he was nothing less than a whole beauty to Brienne. She was said to have known nothing of beauty with a face and ideals such as hers, but she did, for her definition of the very word began with his name.

The name that belonged to the man who stared at her now as she cared for him in a way that no other had, and adored him even more so, with a gaze akin to that of a man discovering love for the very first time, even if she did not realise it whilst she smoothed her hands over one of the most fatal parts of him, right over where his heart beat for her, and only for her. 

“Yes.” He whispered in reply. “Yes I did.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translation (From Scottish Gaelic): 
> 
> “Little baby, hear my voice  
I'm beside you, O maiden fair  
Our young Lady, grow and see  
Your land, your own faithful land
> 
> Sun and moon, guide us  
To the hour of our glory and honour  
Little baby, our young Lady  
Noble maiden fair”  
———  
This is what i have always called “Brienne’s song” and i am so glad that i have managed to find a way to incorporate it into a fic. I hope you all agree how perfect it is suited for her too!  
(I would also highly recommend listening to the full song on the Brave soundtrack - it’s beautiful).  
———  
make sure to comment!!


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